


Desperado

by Sani86



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: After a major detour, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Western, But only for one chapter so you can easily skip it, Cowboy Geralt, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eventual Smut, Geralt gets there in the end, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Happy Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Ray of Sunshine, M/M, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Off-screen minor character death mentioned, Period-Typical Homophobia, Roach has the brain cell, Sort of? - Freeform, Stargazing, There was only one tent!, We love our stupid emotionally oblivious wolf, always always a happy ending with me!, inspired by a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sani86/pseuds/Sani86
Summary: Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?You've been out ridin' fences for so long now...And freedom, oh freedom, Well that's just some people talkin';Your prison is walkin' through this world all alone[Desperado - The Eagles - 1973]--Geralt is a big ol’ loner; a cowboy who travels the length and breadth of the continent with only himself and his horse for company. He needs no-one, and no-one needs him.That is, until he makes the mistake of helping a young man in trouble, and finds himself saddled with an annoyingly cheerful travel companion who just Does. Not. Ever. Shut. Up.He hates him. So much.Until he doesn’t.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 63
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo. Hello, my lovelies. My too-long spell of writer’s block has finally broken, and with a Witcher cowboy AU this time. Hi, it’s good to be back!
> 
> This fic is heavily inspired by the song Desperado by the Eagles. Please go listen to it. . It has been living in my brain for nearly 20 years now (yes, I’m old, okay) and it’s the *perfect* Geralt song. Really, this whole fic is just a setup to get Jaskier to sing Desperado to Geralt, which is something I’ve been imagining for months now. Here is a gorgeous guitar-only version of the song, which is what I imagine Jaskier playing while he sings.
> 
> This is written for the Netflix show characterisation, but it’s an AU that takes place outside the canon universe in a setting reminiscent of the Wild West of yore. No specific time or place (although probably late 19th / early 20th century-ish -?). I use Witcher place names because reasons; I have no idea if the geography is accurate. I also know nothing about cowboys or what their life was really like; this is not meant to be accurate to real life in any sense of the word (my regular readers will know how weird that is for me). 
> 
> This may or may not be vaguely Brokeback Mountain-ish (I wouldn’t know, I haven’t actually seen it, but it is the standard gay cowboy story, isn’t it?) I do, however, promise a happy ending for our boys. Because I honestly can’t write any other kind.

It was just another evening, really. Geralt had rubbed Roach down, set up his tent and lit a fire. He had just finished skinning the rabbit he’d shot earlier, and was setting it up to roast on a makeshift spit.

He was camping just outside a middle-of-nowhere little town called Lower Posada. He rarely stayed in towns; inns cost a pretty coin, after all, and the woods were free room and board to a man with a tent and a bit of know-how. Geralt had all the know-how.

He had gone into the town for some supplies when he arrived earlier, though, and he hadn’t been impressed. It was one of those dusty, dilapidated little towns you found all over the plains: a huddle of wooden houses that were barely more than huts, a couple of shops selling the essentials, and more taverns than a town this size could conceivably need. Geralt suspected that the residents had little else to do but drink until they could forget that they were, in fact, living in Lower Posada.

He’d looked for work while he was in town, too, but no luck. Like any good cowboy, he could turn his hand to just about anything a farm could throw at him, but it hadn’t helped him here. None of the local farmers or ranchers were hiring, so he was resigned to setting out again tomorrow. It was the story of his life, always roaming on, looking for the next job that would feed him for a couple of weeks or months.

As he poked at the fire, he vaguely wondered whether there was an Upper Posada somewhere, and if it would be any better than its less elevated counterpart. Wouldn’t take much. Maybe he’d have better luck there.

While he was attending to his rabbit, he became aware of the sound of someone approaching through the trees behind him, from the direction of town. Running, judging by the rapid footfalls and frenzied thrashing of leaves. 

As he turned, the runner barreled right into him, causing him to nearly step into the fire.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, partly in surprise and partly in annoyance, even as his hands instinctively shot out to steady his assailant.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” the young man babbled. He looked over his shoulder apprehensively. Geralt realised he could hear more people approaching, running and calling out.

“Help me, please,” the young man before him begged, his strikingly blue eyes earnest and pleading. Then he looked over Geralt’s shoulder and, presumably, spotted the tent. 

“Perfect,” he said, before Geralt could get a word in edgeways. With a last hunted look over his shoulder - the sound of approaching feet was now very near - he dashed around Geralt and disappeared into the tent.

Well, fuck.

The pursuers, a group of three men, burst into the little clearing where Geralt was camping. 

“Where is he?” one of them demanded.

“Who?” Geralt retorted as menacingly as he could manage. Which, given his well-muscled six-foot something frame, two-day stubble and unnaturally yellow eyes, was generally a very effective tactic.

The man, surprisingly, didn’t seem cowed. “That little fruitcake we was chasin’. We know he came through here, we see’d him. Which way did he go?” 

“Right. And you’re chasing him, why?” Geralt demanded.

“Coz he’s a fuckin’ sodomite,” the man spit out. “Tried to get it on with one of our lads.”

“He needs to be taught a lesson,” one of the other men piped up.

“Yeah,” the third added, “can’t have his sort around.”

Geralt felt as if his world shifted; as if, suddenly, he was transported back in time some twenty years, to a dusty square in another dusty town, facing off with a group of equally ugly and arrogant men. Fucking  _ hell _ , things just never changed, did they.

It had ended poorly for Geralt, that time, although perhaps not as poorly as for the other guys.

“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You want to beat this boy up because he made a pass at another man? A pass, to be clear, of a romantic or sexual nature?”

“Exactly,” said the first man. “Knew you’d understand, real man such as yourself. So if you could just tell us which way he went.”

“You know what,” Geralt said, “I don’t think I will.”

“You  _ what? _ ” the man looked almost comically surprised, his eyes bulging.

“I said, I don’t think I will. Now. Fuck. Off.” 

One of the men looked as if he was about to argue, but Geralt turned his glare up a few notches, casually resting his hand on the butt of the revolver that he always carried holstered to his belt. It was a move calculated to intimidate;  _ Try me _ , it seemed to say. 

It worked. The men backed off.

“Too late to catch him anyway,” one muttered.

“Yeah, could be anywhere by now,” another agreed.

The first man turned back to Geralt one last time. He had to give it to him, the man had balls, even if he was short on brains.

“You see that little poofter, you tell him, if he shows his face in town again, we’ll break it. Got it?”

Geralt said nothing, just glowered at the man until he turned around and followed his friends back through the trees.

Well. That was a thing.

Geralt sighed. Why did this sort of shit always seem to find him? Oh, well. Best pack up and get going first thing tomorrow, before those louts got some stupid ideas about revenge and returned with more of their friends.

He walked over to the tent. 

“You can come out now,” he called out to the young man who was still, presumably, hiding in there. 

“Are they gone?” his voice came from inside. 

“Yes, all clear,” Geralt confirmed. “But you’d best get a move on in case they come back.”

“Right, yes would be a good idea,” the young man said, emerging from the tent. “Except, where do I go? All my stuff is still in town, it’s getting dark, and you heard what they were saying, there’s no way I can go back in there.”

Geralt got his first good look at the man he’d rescued. He was young, yes, although perhaps not as young as Geralt had initially thought, and everything about him screamed  _ not from around here _ . Instead of the denim jeans and coarse linen shirts that every other man around here seemed to wear, he was dressed in dark trousers and a shirt made of some shiny, silky fabric. His boots were black, with ornate silver buckles, and highly unsuitable for running through the woods. No hat, no jacket. He looked out of place, and strangely... soft, with his fancy clothes and his bright blue eyes and wavy brown hair, mussed up from the chase and with his fringe falling over one eye. Geralt had a strange sense that he belonged in some noble court from a bygone era rather than in a grotty little town out in the wilderness of the Continent.

“Not my problem,” he finally grunted. 

“Well, that’s just dandy, Cowboy.”

“Geralt.”

“What?”

“My name is Geralt. Not Cowboy.”

“Okay. Pleased to meet you Geralt. I’m Jaskier.”

Weird name, but okay. He wasn’t going to ask.

“Anyway,  _ Geralt _ , as I was saying,” the young man went on. “I have nowhere to go. Well, nowhere I won’t get beaten to a pulp. Which, by the way, thank you for saving my arse back there.”

Geralt just grunted in acknowledgement.

“Seriously, though,” Jaskier said, in the manner of someone pulling at a scab to see when the bleeding would start. “It didn’t bother you, what they said? What they accused me of?”

“Was it true?” Geralt countered.

“Well…” Jaskier seemed reluctant to answer. “Yes. Yes, it was, I was, uh, propositioning one of the local lads. Caught with my pants down, in a manner of speaking.”

“And this lad, was he interested?” Geralt asked

“What?”

“I mean, was he willing, or were you forcing yourself on him?”

“Hey, I would never! The very thought!” Jaskier seemed genuinely insulted at the insinuation. “He started making eyes at me first, if you must know.”

“All right,” Geralt said. “Then I don’t see that it’s any of their business.”

“ _ Really? _ ” Jaskier looked… dumbstruck, there wasn’t any other word for it.

Geralt just shrugged. “I couldn't care less in what kind of pantry you choose to hide your sausage,” he grumbled.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jaskier said. “That’s got to be a first. Unless… are you...?”

“No! Fuck! Don’t even fucking think about it.”

“Okay, okay,” Jaskier said, holding up his hands in a conciliatory fashion. “Just asking.”

Geralt went to check on Roach, assuming that Jaskier would be on his way now that the necessary niceties had been observed. No such luck, though; Jaskier simply trailed after him.

“So…” Jaskier started, in a tone of voice that Geralt was sure didn’t bode well for him, “given my complete lack of options, do you mind if I stay here tonight?”

That was enough to get a reaction out of Geralt. “What? No!” 

“Oh, come on,” Jaskier pleaded. “Just one night. And then tomorrow I’ll get out of your hair. Which is lovely, by the way, such an unusual shade. Almost silver.”

Geralt shot him a warning look.

“Sorry, not the point right now. But you have to let me stay here tonight. I’m literally begging you. On my knees, if you insist. Otherwise, what’s the point of having rescued me in the first place, if you’re just going to set me out into the woods to be… eaten by wolves or, I don’t know, tigers or something. Hyenas, maybe?”

Geralt had to laugh at that idea. “Don’t worry, I’m the most dangerous thing in these woods.”

“Which is exactly why I should stick with you,” Jaskier said, as if this were obvious.

Geralt rolled his eyes and turned away. Maybe if he ignored Jaskier, he would go away. Or at least shut up.

“Is that your dinner, Cowboy?” Jaskier asked, gesturing to the spit, “Because I think it’s on fire.”

“Fuck!”

Jaskier did not leave. He also did not shut up. Geralt ate his rather charred supper in silence as Jaskier babbled away through mouthfuls of meat (yes, Geralt shared with him, he wasn’t a monster), although Geralt would be damned if he could recall even ten percent of what was said. By the time he was ready to go to bed, he couldn’t take it anymore. He was used to silence and solitude, and there had been precious little of that in the last few hours.

“I’m going to sleep,” he announced, getting up. “You can... I don’t know, do whatever you like.”

He stepped into his tent and very determinedly closed the flap behind him.

He did, however, open it again a few minutes later to hand Jaskier his extra blanket. He didn’t need it anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt hits the road. Jaskier determinedly tags along.

Geralt nearly tripped over Jaskier when he emerged from his tent the next morning.

“The fuck?” he swore. 

Jaskier was lying right in front of the tent’s entrance, just asking to be stepped on. Maybe Geralt should. Would serve him right.

Jaskier groaned and opened his eyes and blinked blearily at Geralt.

“Morning, Cowboy,” he said.

Geralt glared at him.

“Ugh, my everything hurts,” Jaskier complained as he stretched his arms out above his head. “I feel like I slept on a pile of rocks. Oh, wait…”

“No-one asked you to sleep here,” Geralt pointed out.

“Fair enough. Do you have coffee?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. But he made enough coffee for two.

“So, listen,” Jaskier started when they were about halfway through their coffee. “I was thinking. I can’t go back into town, and all my stuff is still at the inn. Do you think you could do me a favour and fetch it for me?”

“Why would I do that?” Geralt asked.

“Out of the goodness of your heart?” Jaskier tried. Geralt snorted.

“Okay then. I have some money in my bags, I’ll pay you for your trouble. How’s that?”

“Fine,” Geralt relented. 

\--

The inn where Jaskier had been staying was quiet in the early morning; presumably all the patrons were still sleeping off the effects of the night before. Geralt vaguely recognised it from the previous day; he’d stopped off at every place of business he could find to enquire about jobs in the area.

The dining-room-slash-bar was deserted, save for a man nursing a pint in one corner and a woman behind the bar who was wiping down the counter (or at least spreading the dirt around more evenly) with an air of extreme boredom.

“I’ve come for Jaskier’s things,” he said after a perfunctory greeting.

“Jaskier? Oh, you mean the singer?” Well, that was news to Geralt, although he wasn’t particularly surprised. It explained the fancy clothes, at least. “Where’d he go off to, anyway? He was supposed to perform here last night. And I was sorta hoping he might want a little company for afters, if you know what I mean.” She gave him a saucy wink.

Geralt stared back at her, mildly horrified at how forward she was. “Where’s his room?” he asked.

“Number three; up the stairs and second on the left. You a friend of his?”

“Of sorts,” Geralt mumbled, already turning to go upstairs.

Geralt was relieved to find that Jaskier didn’t have much in the way of luggage; just one bag with clothes (half of which had been strewn haphazardly around the room; Geralt just stuffed it all into the bag, he didn’t give a flying fuck if it got wrinkled) and… a guitar. Which made sense for a performer, he supposed. 

It was a fact not known to many that Geralt loved music. He couldn’t play it, and couldn’t carry a tune to save his life, but he had a great deal of admiration for those who could. Putting the irritating little git at his campsite into that category was a little disorienting.

He wondered if Jaskier was any good, and if he could be persuaded to sing something for him. Then he scolded himself. They would be parting ways as soon as Geralt got back, he would make sure of it. If it meant missing out on a few songs, then so be it.

“Got everything you needed?” the barmaid asked him when he got downstairs. 

“Hmm.” He handed her the key to the room.

She gave him a considered look. “Say, weren’t you in here looking for work yesterday?”

“I was,” he answered carefully. “Why, you got something?”

“Might do, yeah,” she answered. “Some bigshot lord from Cintra bought a herd of cattle off a few of the local ranches. Seems he needs someone to drive them over the mountains for him.”

“Hmm. Any idea where I can find this man?” Geralt was a little dubious - Cintra was a long way away, over difficult terrain, but it couldn’t hurt to find out some more details. It’s not like he had anything else to do, after all.

“His guy’s staying at the Bull & Thistle just at that end of town.” She gestured vaguely up the main street. “Name of Mousesack, gods know why.”

“Right. Thanks.” Geralt hefted the bag onto his shoulder, grabbed the guitar case, and made for the door.

\---

“Gods, finally!” Jaskier exclaimed when Geralt arrived back at the campsite. “I was starting to wonder if I needed to send out a search party! You didn’t have any trouble, did you?”

“No, just saw a man about a job,” Geralt replied, handing over Jaskier’s stuff. Jaskier immediately opened up the guitar case, pulling the instrument out with all the care of a loving mother handling her newborn baby.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re all right, my darling girl,” he cooed at the instrument, running a loving hand along the neck. “Without you, I am nothing; a mere shell of a man.”

“You want some time alone with your lady?” Geralt teased with a smirk.

“Very funny,” Jaskier retorted, “but she’s my only means of making a living. I really would be lost without her. Speaking of which, you mentioned a job?”

“Hmm. Driving a herd of cattle up to Cintra.”

“Ooh, lovely,” Jaskier beamed. “I’ve always wanted to go to Cintra.”

“What? No!” Geralt protested. “You’re _not_ coming with me. I already have a hundred head of cattle to look after, I don’t have time to babysit you as well.”

“Oh, come onnnnnn,” Jaskier whined. “I can help out, you know. Besides, you’ll get lonely going all that way by yourself.”

“That’s sort of the point,” Geralt said. “I _like_ traveling alone.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Jaskier argued. “No-one likes to be alone.” 

“I do. Especially if the alternative is you.”

“Geralt, you wound me!” Jaskier said with an exaggeratedly offended expression, hand held dramatically over his heart.. 

Geralt said nothing, just turned away and started breaking up camp. The day was still young and the sooner he could get hit the road, the better.

“I’ll just follow you, you know,” Jaskier said.

“I’d like to see you try,” Geralt grunted, although he knew this was an empty threat. Even though he had Roach, they wouldn’t be moving faster than walking pace; a large herd of cattle does not go anywhere quickly.

“Well, that’s settled then,” Jaskier beamed. “We’re going to Cintra, Cowboy!”

Geralt didn’t bother trying to hide his groan.

\--

It took Geralt about six hours to realise that travelling with Jaskier alternated between mildly annoying and downright exasperating.

For one thing, he sang as he walked. Which would be fine, since he was actually a decent singer, but he made up random tunes and lyrics as he went, most of which seemed to poke fun at Geralt. _There was a lonely cowboy, with hair like silv’ry falls, but don’t you dare to piss him off or he’ll kick you in the balls._ That sort of thing. 

“Shut up or I’ll kick _you_ in the balls,” Geralt had threatened, to absolutely no effect.

And when Jaskier wasn’t singing, he was talking. This ranged from inane statements of the obvious ( _Wow, the sky is really blue out here)_ to a truly toddler-worthy level of whining.

“Geralt, can we take a bit off a break?”

“Nope.”

“Well, can I ride Roach for a bit?”

“Not a chance.”

“Oh, come _onnn_. My feet are killing me. These boots were not made for hiking all the way across the continent, you know.”

“No-one asked you to come.”

“Arse.”

But as much as Jaskier whined, he stubbornly kept going, stupid boots and all. Geralt had to admire that, just a bit.

Jaskier groaned as he pulled off his socks that night.

“Fuck, I think the blisters on my blisters have got blisters,” he moaned. Geralt looked over, and then did a double take. He could see blood in at least three places.

“Fucking hell, Jaskier. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Ex _cuse_ me? I did, if you’ll recall,” Jaskier pointed out. “Repeatedly. Did you think I was just being dramatic?”

“Do you blame me, Mr. Drama Queen?” Geralt retorted. 

“Well, that’s just rude!” Jaskier huffed. “I’m going to go stick my feet in the stream, maybe the cold water will numb the pain.”

Geralt just grunted and continued setting up his tent.

“Here,” Geralt grunted when Jaskier returned, shoving a small tin at him. 

“Oh? What’s this?” Jaskier asked.

“Ointment,” Geralt explained. “For your feet.”

“Aw, Cowboy,” Jaskier smiled at him. “Aren’t you just a sweetheart.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

But despite his assertions that he did not care, Geralt kitted Jaskier out in his thickest, softest pair of wool socks before they left the next morning.

He didn’t let him ride Roach, though. That would be a step too far.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier get used to travelling together, and get to know each other a bit better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi my lovelies! Just a quick interruption to say:
> 
> HAPPY NEW YEAR!!
> 
> If you're reading this, it means you survived 2020, which is definitely something to celebrate, dontcha think?  
> May 2021 be better in every way.
> 
> And now, back to our regular scheduled programming...

It was a little disconcerting how quickly they settled into a comfortable routine. Geralt soon got used to Jaskier’s chatter, and managed to tune it out most of the time. Instead, he turned his attention to the scenery and the job at hand, content to focus on the simple task of slowly driving the herd of cattle onward, feeling himself unwind as they crossed plains and woodland. He’d always loved this kind of work best, where it was just him, the animals, and the wide open sky. If that came with a mildly irritating travel companion this time around… well, so be it.

Camping also got easier. By the third night, they had the process of setting up camp down to an art, hardly needing to exchange a word as Jaskier erected the tent and lit a fire while Geralt took care of the cattle and their supper. At least, Geralt would find supper; Jaskier appointed himself as the chef after he learned that Geralt’s entire culinary repertoire consisted of spit-roasting various small animals and making coffee. Geralt had been a little insulted, but after the first time Jaskier made them a stew, complete with fresh herbs and some sort of root vegetable that he dug up gods-knew-where, he simply shut his mouth and counted his blessings.

And after supper, they’d sit around the fire as Jaskier strummed his guitar and occasionally sang; not his silly made up songs, but beautiful ballads of love and loss and heroism and redemption. Songs that made Geralt’s heart clench with emotion in a way he hadn’t even thought it was capable of.

Really, the only problem was the tent. Specifically, the fact that there was only one of it.

After that first night outside Lower Posada, Jaskier flat out refused to sleep outside again.

“Mosquitos, Geralt,” he pointed out. “And snakes. Scorpions. All sorts of nasties. Not to mention frostbite.”

“You can’t get frostbite in summer,” Geralt snorted.

“Regardless,” Jaskier said in an end-of-discussion sort of voice. “I’m not sleeping out in the open, and that’s final. I won’t bite, I promise.”

And he didn’t bite. He did talk in his sleep sometimes (which could be amusing) and snore when he laid on his back (which was not). But most annoyingly, he was a nighttime cuddler. No matter how far Geralt scooted over to the other side of the tent, or how he stuffed the blanket down between them, Jaskier would shuffle over to him at some point during the night and wrap an arm or a leg around him. He was like some cold-blooded creature instinctively seeking out heat.

The first morning, Geralt had such a fright he nearly threw Jaskier across the tent. Jaskier apologised awkwardly, and Geralt fled.

The second morning, Geralt prodded at him until he moved away. Jaskier grumbled, and Geralt pulled a blanket over his head.

By the third morning, Geralt just rolled his eyes and wriggled out carefully to go have a piss and start the coffee. He would never admit it, even under the most refined torture, but it was kind of nice waking up next to someone. Even if it wasn’t a cuddle buddy he would have picked for himself.

\--

The first time they happened upon a town, Jaskier insisted they make a detour. Geralt wasn’t keen on the idea.

“Seriously, Geralt,” Jaskier argued. “I need new shoes, these are falling apart. I don’t fancy walking to Cintra barefoot.”

Well, Geralt couldn’t argue with that. 

“You still don’t have to come,” he pointed out, more from habit than anything else. Truth was, he’d gotten used to Jaskier’s company and was maybe even starting to enjoy it a little.

“Yes, because I’ll happily just settle here in the glamorous village of Fuck-all-ville,” Jaskier countered.

“Fine,” Geralt relented. “But you’re on your own. I’ll wait here. Make sure you get new socks too, I want mine back. In fact, you keep those and just get me some new ones. And more coffee.”

“Anything else, your royal highness?” Jaskier asked sarcastically.

“Get a gag for yourself, why don’t you?” Geralt grumbled.

“Ooh, kinky, Cowboy,” Jaskier winked at him.

“Fuck off.” 

\--

Jaskier returned with new boots, a proper jacket, a couple of apples for Roach, and a mysteriously bulging shopping bag. Geralt thought he could hear glass clinking around inside.

“What’s that?” Geralt asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jaskier answered mysteriously.

“Well, yes,” Geralt pointed out. “That’s why I asked.”

“Just some stuff for supper,” Jaskier said evasively. “Now, didn’t we need to get going?”

Geralt rolled his eyes (it felt like he was doing that a lot lately) and went to saddle up Roach.

That night, Geralt was delighted to discover that Jaskier’s bag contained not only a selection of herbs and spices, resulting in a dinner that was even tastier than usual, but also several bottles of beer. Geralt cracked one open and downed half of it in one breath. It was a bit warm, what with traveling in the sun all day, but it still tasted like the nectar of the gods.

“Gods, that’s good,” he said happily.

Jaskier laughed easily. “Can I take that to mean you approve?”

Geralt hummed in assent. “You may not be totally useless after all.”

“High praise,” Jaskier remarked drily. “Come on, Cowboy, food’s up.”

“Why’d you let me come with you?” Jaskier asked later. They were sitting by the fire, bellies full and finishing off their second round of beers.

“I didn’t,” Geralt answered. “You followed me.”

“Oh, pfft, don’t give me that,” Jaskier scoffed. “Look at you. You could have easily gotten rid of me, or left me to the tender mercies of those ruffians in Posada.”

“I’m not a monster,” Geralt protested.

“Okay, but still. What do you care what happens to someone like me?”

Geralt was quiet for a while. It was difficult to explain. Well, not difficult so much as painful. It involved revisiting some memories he’d really rather leave buried. 

“I knew a guy when I was young,” he began, staring distantly into the flames. “There were three of us that grew up together, almost like brothers: Eskel, me, and Lambert, who was the youngest. Bloody hotheaded idiot he was, always in trouble. And then he fell in love.”

Geralt remembered the way Lambert’s face had lit up when he talked about Aiden. He’d never seen Lambert so animated, so alive; not before then, and not since. 

“Anyway, we were in Blaviken at the time. And the townsfolk… well, let’s just say they didn’t approve of Lambert and Aiden’s relationship.”

Jaskier’s eyes grew wide at the revelation that Lambert’s lover was, in fact, a man. “Oh, shit,” he said, as if he’d suddenly seen where this story was going. 

“Yeah. A bunch of them got hold of Aiden, and…”

Geralt shrugged uncomfortably. He didn’t want to remember. Aiden lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, blood staining the ground underneath him, his delicate features smashed up almost beyond recognition. 

“I lost it.” He remembered the rage descending on him, remembered pulling out his revolver with one hand and his knife with the other. 

“I didn’t leave even one of them alive.” Not that it helped. It couldn’t bring Aiden back, couldn’t stop Lambert’s heart from breaking. And he’d never been able to go back to Blaviken; for all he knew, he was a wanted criminal there. 

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. “That’s… fuck.”

“Hmm.” 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost in his own thoughts. 

“You’re a good man, Geralt,” Jaskier said eventually. 

Geralt snorted. “I’m really not.”

“You are,” Jaskier protested. 

“Have you not been listening?” Geralt said. “I’m a killer. A murderer.”

“No,” Jaskier said, his tone uncharacteristically hard. “You can only murder a human. You slaughter a beast.”

The silence stretched between them again, thick with unsaid words.

“Thank you,” Geralt eventually whispered. Jaskier just looked over at him, smiling weakly, his eyes shimmering in the firelight.

Geralt drained the last of his beer. “I’m going to bed,” he said, getting to his feet. 

“Yeah, okay,” Jaskier answered. “Be there in a bit.”

Geralt wasn’t sure how long Jaskier remained sitting by the fire, but he was still alone in the tent when he fell asleep. 

But at least he didn’t wake up alone.

\--

Geralt was not okay.

Well, no. He was okay, strictly speaking. But he also wasn’t.

Because here he was, walking -  _ walking _ , as if he wasn’t leading the finest damn horse on the continent - and chuckling along to Jaskier’s ridiculous stories.

“Oh, and there was this one time,” Jaskier was saying, “I was running away from - well, nevermind that - it was dark, I wasn’t watching where I was going, and jumped over a wall and landed face-first in the pigsty.”

“Of course you did,” Geralt chuckled.

“Yeah, and she caught up with me then.”

“She?” Geralt inquired, curious. 

“Jealous wife,” Jaskier replied, waving a hand airily.

“Oh, gods,” Geralt was almost bent over laughing.

“Oi, that’s not funny,” Jaskier said, offended.

“What did she do, strangle you with her pantihose?” Geralt choked out.

“No,” Jaskier wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Although with the arms on her, she could probably have strangled me with her bare hands. No, she just grabbed a bucket of pigswill, and emptied it over my head.”

Geralt couldn’t stop laughing. “Serves you right,” he wheezed, “Stealing the poor woman’s husband.”

“Yes, well,” Jaskier said. “She won that round. It took me  _ days _ to get the smell out of my hair. The clothes were a dead loss, I had to chuck them. And they were my favourite underpants, too.”

Geralt wiped the tears from his eyes, still chuckling.

“You know,” he pointed out, “the thought occurs that you would get into a whole lot less trouble if you learned to keep it in your pants.”

“And where would the fun be in that?” Jaskier asked, grinning.

Geralt shrugged. “Works for me.”

“Does it, though?” Jaskier prodded, his face turning serious. “Don’t you get lonely?”

Geralt didn’t answer, because the truth was that yes, it did. But loneliness had been his companion for so long that he hardly even noticed it anymore. He had Roach for company (although she wasn’t the most brilliant conversationalist), and when the yearning for another warm body got too great, there were plenty of women in the towns willing to trade a night of company for the right price. It had always been enough.

Until now, he realised with a shock. He’d gotten used to having Jaskier around, in the short time they’d been travelling together, and as much as it pained him to admit it, he’d actually miss the idiot when it was time for them to part ways.

He wasn’t about to say any of that out loud, though.

“I’ve got Roach,” he said instead.

“And me,” Jaskier added. 

“And you,” Geralt conceded. “For now.”

Jaskier beamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, anyone remember Lucky Luke? The one theme song, Lonesome Cowboy, made me think of Geralt - give it a listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6XStbIfIQFM  
> [[in the Afrikaans translation, which is what we watched as kids, the first verse goes something like "I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy, with no problems or cares, and this poor, lonesome cowboy and his horse travel alone," which is imo even more Geralt than the original 😜]]


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their journey continues.  
> Geralt has an important realisation; but, like the emotionally constipated knobhead he is, he decides to deal with it in completely the wrong way.

It was hot. So fucking hot. And not the comfortable, dry heat of the desert; no, this was that muggy, oppressive heat that promised thunderstorms later.

Even Jaskier’s usually sunny demeanour was affected.

“It’s too bloody hot,” he complained for probably the tenth time that hour.

“I know,” Geralt replied from his perch on Roach. It was hot, okay; He wasn’t going to walk if he didn’t have to.

“Can we just rest a bit?”

“No.” They were in the middle of a plain, with no cover in sight. They had to get to the treeline at the base of the mountains as soon as possible - whether for shade or for shelter from the inevitable rains.

“Well, can I ride for a bit then?”

“No!”

“Seriously, this is just ridiculous. I’m dying here, Geralt.  _ Dying _ .”

Geralt snapped. “For fuck’s sake, can you just shut up?”

Jaskier sulked for the rest of the day.

The rains arrived that night. They’d made it to the trees, so at least the cattle would have some shelter.

“Do you hear that?” Jaskier whispered. They’d just bedded down for the night, and were both still awake.

Geralt grunted in the affirmative. Then, “What are you doing?” when Jaskier got up and went to the door of the tent. 

“Enjoying the rain,” Jaskier said with a smile. “Just smell that!”

Geralt inhaled deeply, tasting the petrichor scent of wet earth and enjoying the coolness of the breeze that wafted into the tent.

“Yes, lovely,” he said. “Now close the fucking flap and go to sleep.”

“No chance,” Jaskier answered. “I’ve been cooking all day, I’m gonna go cool off.” And with that he was out of the tent.

Geralt stared after him in disbelief. “Are you crazy? You’ll get wet!”

“That’s the point!” Jaskier laughed. “Come on, Cowboy, it’s great!”

“No fucking way,” Geralt muttered, as he watched Jaskier singing and dancing around outside. Honestly, he was worse than a child.

It wasn’t long before Jaskier came back, soaked through and grinning like a loon. With his wet clothes sticking to him like a second skin, Geralt noticed for the first time that Jaskier was actually pretty well muscled. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him, given how many miles Jaskier had covered on foot, carrying his bag and his guitar, and yet it did.

Geralt couldn’t tear his eyes away. Jaskier was… he was attractive. No, he was bloody gorgeous. Especially now, sopping wet and a little out of breath, his cheeks flushed and his eyes alight with joy. No wonder all those men wanted him.

Well, fuck. That was  _ not _ a thought Geralt had been expecting. It certainly wasn’t a welcome one.

“That was just what I needed,” Jaskier exclaimed, shaking his head like a dog. The splatter of cold water on his face yanked Geralt back to his senses. 

“You look like a drowned mutt,” he joked.

Jaskier just laughed and began peeling off his wet clothes.Geralt abruptly turned his back, and didn’t move even when he felt Jaskier settling down next to him.

Next thing he knew, a pair of icy feet were pressed against his calves.

“Fuck!” he hissed, and Jaskier laughed. He didn’t move his feet, though. 

Geralt sighed and sat up.

“Give ‘em here,” he demanded, gesturing at Jaskier’s feet. “I’m not sharing a bed with those icicles.” 

Jaskier looked puzzled, but complied. Geralt took each foot in turn, rubbing them until they got back to a reasonable body temperature.

“There,” he grunted when he was done. 

“Aw, Geralt, you old softie,” Jaskier said fondly. “Who’d have guessed the rough, tough cowboy is such a sweetheart.” Jaskier reached out and ruffled his hair. Geralt batted his hand away.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” he grumbled.

\-- 

Jaskier was decidedly less enchanted with the rain when they had to travel in it the next day.

“My guitar,” he moaned. “What if she gets wet? She’ll be ruined!”

“It’s in a case, isn’t it?” Geralt said.

“Yes,  _ she _ is in a case,” Jaskier said, emphasising the pronoun, “but I’m not sure it’s waterproof. It doesn’t seal that well.”

“Give here,” Geralt gestured. He took the piece of oilskin that they used on the floor of their tent and carefully wrapped the guitar case in it, tying it in place with twine. After a moment’s thought, he added a long loop for a carrying strap.

“There,” he grunted, handing it back to Jaskier.

Jaskier was looking at him with a calculating sort of expression. “This is how you show you care, isn't’ it?” he asked. 

“I don’t care,” Geralt countered. 

“Sure you don’t, Cowboy,” Jaskier said sceptically. “I mean, you act all grumpy, but then you do nice things like this. That doesn’t say ‘I don’t care’ to me.”

“Shut up. Or I’ll take it back.”

Jaskier just smiled at him. “Nah, you wouldn’t.” He gave Geralt’s shoulder a squeeze before crawling out of the tent to brave the rain.

\-- 

It kept raining on and off for a few days. Jaskier’s cold feet became a prominent feature of Geralt’s evenings, and though he grumbled, he always let Jaskier wedge them under his calves to warm up. And sometimes his hands were just as cold, so of course Geralt would take them in his own to warm them up, or press them against his chest. It was just a friendly thing to do. Right?

They were both relieved when the rain finally abated and the sun broke through. 

“Gods, I missed this,” Jaskier said, turning his face to bask in the sun.

“Yeah, yeah,” Geralt scolded him fondly. “I give you two days tops before you’re complaining about the heat again.”

“Oh, shush, spoilsport,” Jaskier chided him. “Look, there’s a rainbow.”

Geralt looked. He had to admit, it was beautiful.

He looked back at Jaskier’s smile. That was beautiful too.

-

That night, they could see the stars for the first time in days. They were in the mountains now (or the foothills, at least) and the air was clearer than anywhere else on the continent. The sky was painted with a million, a billion pinpricks of light, so abundant in places that they merged into a bright smear.

“Do you know the constellations?” Jaskier asked. They were lying on their backs, some distance from the fire, staring up at the night sky.

“Not really, no,” Geralt admitted. “I can just about find north. Why, do you?”

Jaskier hummed.

“Show me some?” Geralt asked.

“Really?” Jaskier sounded surprised, but pleased. “Okay, so you see that really bright star there? That one just above that tree...”

Jaskier pointed out one constellation after the other, telling Geralt their stories, tales of gods and monsters, heroes and star-crossed (hah!) lovers. It was fascinating, and Jaskier was a fantastic storyteller. Geralt found himself hanging on every word.

“Oh, look!” Jaskier grabbed his forearm, pointing up at the sky. “A shooting star! That means you get to make a wish, you know.”

“Really?” Geralt asked, sceptically. “How does that figure?”

“I don’t know, magic?” Jaskier said.

Geralt huffed. As if. “Okay, I wish that-”

“No!” Jaskier cut him off. “You can’t say it out loud, or the wish won’t come true!”

What a stupid concept. And what would he wish for anyway? That Jaskier would stay with him after Cintra? Fat chance of that. So he didn’t bother.

“What did you wish for?” he asked Jaskier later, when they were settling down to sleep.

“Ah ah Cowboy, can’t tell you,” Jaskier answered, waggling his finger. “Can’t violate the wish magic.”

“Seriously? You really believe that?” Geralt asked.

“Well, maybe, maybe not,” Jaskier said. “But there’s so little chance of my wish coming true even under the best of circumstances, I’m not doing anything to jinx it.”

“You’re preposterous,” Geralt said.

“And so are you,” Jaskier countered, snuggling down into his blanket. “Now go to sleep, it’s late.”

Geralt did, suppressing an intense desire to throw his arm around Jaskier and draw him to his chest.

Apparently his subconscious had no such qualms, because he woke up spooned up behind Jaskier, warm and cozy with his nose buried in Jaskier’s hair and his - oh, gods, that was embarrassing. He was a man, okay, and waking up with a bit of a morning glory wasn’t unusual, but doing so while pressed up against another man was a whole other shade of mortifying. Thank fuck Jaskier was still asleep.

He pulled away slowly, careful not to wake Jaskier, and went outside to go sort himself out.

He hoped and prayed it wouldn’t happen again. It would send entirely the wrong message. Wouldn’t it?

\---

Days blended into one another, the monotony of their trek broken by stories and songs and playful bickering. Geralt found himself wondering how he ever thought it was better to travel alone.

But. There was a but, and a big one. He’d come to enjoy the way that Jaskier was a constant presence in his days, but now the man had started to invade his nights too, in dreams involving far less clothing than their reality ever did. Those dreams always left him feeling guilty and yearning and so very, very empty inside. Some mornings he could barely look Jaskier in the eye, and other days he wanted to hang onto him and never, ever let go again. It was all very confusing, and it was  _ awful _ . He couldn’t stand being in his own head anymore.

Cintra was getting closer every day, and Geralt was both eager for Jaskier to get out of his space and dreading it. He didn’t want to part ways, not really, but he also remembered that he had been happy by himself before Jaskier barged into his life. He had been content to travel along with only his horse for company, and never felt this yawning sense of nothingness in his gut. Had never been so confused and unsure of what sort of person he really was. He’d never had to hate himself for being inappropriate toward possibly his only friend in the world. 

Maybe once Jaskier left, he could get back to that state of relative peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* Geralt is scared of Feelings, pass it on...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Cintra nears, Geralt gets stupider...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Drumroll*.............. DRAMA!
> 
> Short one today, sorry. I'll put up another one before the weekend's over to make up for it.

“We’ll get to Cintra tomorrow,” he said to Jaskier on what would be the last night of their journey. They were camped probably half a day away from Cintra at cattle speed (which is to say, maybe an hour on horseback), and the glow of the city was faintly visible in the distance.

“Wow. That’s… a thing.” Jaskier said. He looked… wistful, perhaps? Then he chuckled. “Can you believe I actually walked all the way here?”

“I’ll admit, I wouldn’t have put money on that,” Geralt said. “You’re a lot tougher than you look.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Jaskier said. Geralt just hummed.

“So, what will you do in Cintra?” Geralt asked.

“Have a proper, hot bath,” Jaskier responded immediately.

Geralt snorted. “I meant after, you idiot.”

“I don’t know. Make some music, I guess. You?”

“Whatever I can find,” Geralt said. “Maybe make my way back home, go see Eskel and Lambert.”

Jaskier gave him a sidelong look. “I could come with you,” he said softly.

“You… what?” Geralt asked, perplexed.

“I could come with you,” Jaskier repeated with a bit more certainty. “We travel pretty well together, no? And there’s such a lot of world I still need to see.”

Oh, no. Oh, fuck, no. That would definitely _not_ be compatible with Geralt’s plan to get his sanity back.

“I don’t think so, Jaskier,” he said, his tone cold.

“Why not?” Jaskier asked.

“Because I don’t fucking want you to, okay?” Geralt burst out. “I don’t want you to follow me around being all… all… all _you_ ! You’re incessant, and annoying, and I just want some fucking _peace_!”

Jaskier was looking at him, wide eyed. He swallowed a few times. “Oh,” he said, his voice small. “Oh. Is that how it is? Okay then. I… okay.”

Fuck, Jaskier looked like he was about to start crying or something.

“Jas, I’m sorry. I just-”

“Just what, Geralt?” Jasker said, suddenly turning furious. “Don’t you even dare call me _Jas_ and be all apologetic now. You don’t get to take that back, pretending to be my friend and then being so fucking mean. I’ve been nothing but good to you-”

“That’s fucking rich,” Geralt shot back. “You’re the one who decided to follow me around, making a bloody nuisance of yourself. I never wanted you around, remember? It’s time you got that through your thick, stupid skull.”

“I thought we were friends, you bastard,” Jaskier said, sounding hurt and angry in equal measure. “I thought that, maybe…”

Jaskier took a few deep breaths, his cheeks flushed and his eyes flashing. 

“No. You know what? Fuck you, Geralt,” he finally spat out. “Fuck. You.” Jaskier turned on his heel and stormed off into the night. 

Geralt didn’t call out, didn’t run after him. He didn’t know what he would say if he caught up with him.

Jaskier would come back. Surely he would. He’d left his guitar, after all.

-

Jaskier didn’t come back. Geralt went to bed alone for the first time in ages, and it was just a little too quiet, a little too cold. Sleep proved elusive, and he got no more than a couple of hours’ shut-eye.

By the time morning started lightening the horizon, Geralt was forced to accept that Jaskier would not be coming back.

He carefully packed up his tent, and after a brief struggle with his conscience, loaded Jaskier’s bag and his guitar behind Roach’s saddle. She snorted at him reproachfully.

“Yeah, I know girl,” he said. “I’m a fucking disaster. But at least I can find him and give this back to him, yeah?”

He mounted up and set to work rounding up the cattle.

\--

They were about an hour into the day’s journey, and Geralt was itchy and impatient with the cattle’s slow walking pace. There was a crevasse running all along one side of the path they were taking, and Geralt was riding Roach along the edge to make sure none of his charges would accidentally tumble in. His gaze was flitting about restlessly, never settling on any one thing for long, which is how he spotted the human-shaped bundle lying in the ditch.

He felt his throat tighten as he recognised the boots, the colour of the shirt.

“Jaskier?” he called out, tentatively, then again a little louder when he got no reaction.

Still nothing.

Geralt swore under his breath as he jumped off Roach and hurried over, almost tumbling down the steep slope in his hurry to get to Jaskier.

“Jaskier?” He cried again, panic gripping his chest. “Fuck, talk to me, you idiot!”

He flipped Jaskier over carefully, and paled when he saw the blood staining his hair, the large dark blotch where it had seeped into the ground below his body and the rust-red edge of the sharp rock he must have hit his head on. His eyes were closed, his face pale, and it was difficult to tell if he was breathing.

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Geralt muttered, half protest and half prayer, as his fingers fumbled along Jaskier’s throat. He sagged with relief when he finally felt a pulse. It was weak, and too rapid, but it was there.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he muttered, carefully inspecting the bloodied area on Jaskier’s head. He found a deep cut and, oh gods, it was still bleeding, the warm liquid pulsing over his fingers. All his jostling must have caused the wound to open up again. Fuck, he was such an idiot.

“Hang on, Jas,” he said as he pressed a handkerchief to the cut. “I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” He didn’t know who he was trying to reassure - possibly himself - but he kept up a steady mumbling of comforting nonsense as he hoisted Jaskier over his shoulder and scrambled back up to the path. He quickly unloaded their bags before heaving Jaskier into Roach’s saddle, and awkwardly got on behind him, fixing him into a sort of sitting position. He wrapped one arm securely around Jaskier’s chest and spurred Roach on into a canter. The cattle could wait, he had to save his friend first.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt makes sure Jaskier gets taken care of. He is, however, not done being an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised you all a quick update, but then we just spent the last two days without electricity. Sigh. Joys of living in Africa.
> 
> Anyway, Here it is. Enjoy.

They made it to Cintra in record time. Geralt had forgotten just how big and confusing the city was; people and horses and carts everywhere.

“Oi, you!” he shouted out to the first person who made eye contact. “Where can I find a doctor? A good one?”

The young man eyed him for a moment. “Well, there’s the hospital,” he said, “but if you want my advice, you’re better off going to doctor Vengerburg. It’s closer.”

“Right,” Geralt said. “And where do I find him?”

“Her,” the young man corrected, and Geralt raised his eyebrows. “Come on, I’ll show you, it’s just a couple of blocks.”

He set off, talking as he walked. “Unusual to get a woman doctor, I know. Those stuck up old arses at the main hospital won’t allow her to practice there, they say women should stick to nursing. But she really is the best.”

She’d better be, Geralt thought to himself. He didn’t want to imagine a world without Jaskier in it.

Of course, there was the other thing he still had to take care of.

“Listen,” he interrupted, “do you know someone called Mousesack?”

“Lord Eist’s deputy?” the guy said. “Sure, everyone does.”

“Lord?” Geralt asked.

“Yes, he’s the ruler of this province. Well, technically; everyone knows his wife Calanthe is really the one who’s in charge.”

“Right,” Geralt said vaguely, endlessly uninterested in the local politics. “Do you know how I can get a message to him? It’s kind of urgent.”

“I can run up there for you, once we get to the doctor’s. Which, speaking of, here we are.” He gestured to a white-painted house.

Geralt jumped down and carefully lifted Jaskier off Roach’s back.

“The message?” his guide said patiently.

“Oh, right. Can you ask him to come down here? I have something for him.”

“Right,” the man said sceptically. “And he’ll come because…?”

“Tell him it’s the cowboy he hired down in Posada, and if he doesn’t want all his cattle to wander off back into the mountains, he’d better come down here and bring some men to round them up. Got it?”

And with that he turned and shouldered his way through the door and into the building, carrying Jaskier bridal-style in his arms.

“I’m looking for doctor Vengerburg, urgently,” he said brusquely to the woman sitting inside. 

“You’re speaking to her,” the woman replied. Geralt did a double take.

The doctor was… well, Geralt wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Doctor Vengerburg was strikingly beautiful, dark hair hanging loose over her shoulders and eyes such a dark shade of blue that they looked violet. Instead of the typical white coat Geralt associated with doctors and nurses, she was wearing a form-fitting dress, and diamonds sparkled at her throat and in her earlobes. She looked more like a sorceress from some medieval fantasy than a medical professional. They locked eyes for several long seconds, the doctor’s gaze almost disconcerting in its intensity, as if she could see far more than normal eyesight would suggest.

“My friend,” Geralt said, shaking himself out of his stupor. “He got hurt. I think he’s lost a lot of blood.”

The doctor led him to the next room and gestured to a high bed. Geralt carefully laid Jaskier down, and doctor Vengerburg started her examination. 

“Tell me what happened?” she asked as her hands and eyes roved over Jaskier’s arms, his chest, his face.

“Fell into a ditch, as far as I can tell, and hit his head on a rock.”

“And how long ago was this?”

Fuck. “I’m not sure. We, um, parted ways last night. I found him this morning. I have no idea how long he was lying there. Could have been several hours.” Geralt felt sick with guilt. The events of the previous night played out in his mind, like they had a thousand times in the last hour or two: their fight, Jaskier storming off into the night, Geralt refusing to go after him. 

It was all his fault.

Doctor Vengerburg frowned as she examined the head wound, and Geralt felt his gut clench in fear.

“Please,” he said. “You have to help him. He is... “ 

How to say it? How to explain what Jaskier meant to him, the way it was unthinkable that anything should happen to him? 

“He is important to me,” was what Geralt finally settled on.

“I’ll do what I can,” she replied curtly.

They were startled by a knock on the door.

“Go get that, would you?” the doctor said vaguely, her attention absorbed in cleaning the head wound.

It turned out to be Geralt’s guide with Mousesack in tow, flanked by a couple of cowboys. Right, the cattle.

He spent several minutes explaining the situation and telling them where to find the herd.

“Oh, one other thing,” he said as they were about to go. “I left all my stuff there. Two bags, a tent and a guitar. Please bring it back with you. Especially the guitar.”

One of the cowboys gave him a  _ what the fuck?  _ sort of look.

“Please. I’ll pay, whatever. Just bring it.”

The man nodded, and they turned and set off.

Geralt went back inside.

He was surprised to find the doctor in the front room.

“How’s he doing?” Geralt asked.

“Go have a look,” she said, gesturing to the room.

Jaskier was lying on his back, a clean sheet drawn up to his chest. A large bruise stained his one shoulder, and there were scratches all along his arm. The blood had been cleaned off his face, and his head was bandaged. He looked so young and so very vulnerable lying there, still and pale, but he was  _ alive _ . The gentle rise and fall of his chest may have been the most wonderful thing Geralt had ever seen.

“He’s stable,” the good doctor said behind him. “You were right, he lost a lot of blood, but he’s young and he’ll recover. I gave him something for pain and to prevent infection; now he just needs to rest and heal. I suggest he sleeps here, at least for tonight.”

Geralt turned to her, flooded with relief and an overwhelming sense of gratitude. 

“Thank you, doctor,” he started.

She cut him off with a laugh. “Please, call me Yennefer.”

“Yennefer,” Geralt said, feeling the word in his mouth and deciding he rather liked it. Her eyes lit up at hearing him say her name. Fuck, she was beautiful. On an impulse, he pulled her into a hug.

She seemed surprised for a moment, but then wrapped her arms around his waist. Geralt was overwhelmed with the warmth and softness of her body, with the lilac scent of her hair. When she pulled back and looked at him, her eyes ablaze, he didn’t hesitate to pull her into a kiss.

Geralt kissed her roughly, hungrily, pouring all the overwhelming emotions of the last twenty-four hours into it. She gave as good as he did, leading him through the house to what appeared to be a bedroom, and the next thing Geralt knew he was being pushed down on his back on a soft bed, Yennefer clambering on top of him. He didn’t stop her, didn’t even consider it for a moment; it just felt so fucking  _ good _ to allow himself to want and be wanted, to take and give and lose himself in the sheer physical pleasure of it.

Afterwards, they lay together in a tangle of limbs, sweaty and sated and sleepy with bliss. Geralt let himself drift off, holding her close, finally finding the sleep that had eluded him last night.

\--

  
  


Geralt drifted back into consciousness somewhere around twilight. He blinked his eyes open to find Yennefer lying across from him. Looking at him with a soft smile.

“Hey,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.

“Hey,” she responded. “Sleep well?”

“Hmm.” Geralt was still too sleep-addled to formulate full sentences. “How’s-”

“Your friend?” she answered. “Still sleeping. I should probably go check on him, actually.”

As if he’d heard them wondering, there came a faint  _ Hello? _ from the direction of Jaskier’s room. 

Geralt felt himself light up at the sound of that familiar voice, and he jumped out of bed without a second thought, rushing to the other room.

“Jaskier!” he said, overcome with joy at seeing his friend sitting up in bed. “You’re awake?”

Jaskier looked over at him and made a strangled little noise. “Geralt,” he said, carefully. “Where are your clothes?”

Only then did Geralt realise he was still stark naked. He grabbed a sheet off the bed and wound it around his waist, mortified.

“How’s the patient?” came Yennefer’s voice from the door. She had at least had the foresight to put on a dressing gown, a white silk thing that really did not leave much to the imagination.

Jaskier stared.

“Will someone please tell me what the  _ fuck _ is going on?!”

\---

Jaskier bounced back quickly, and within a couple of days he was up and about, already restless to get back on the road. Yennefer wanted him to rest, and Jaskier wanted to do anything but. He protested by playing his guitar loudly (and badly) at all hours of the day and night, bemoaning his fate to anyone who would listen, and generally being an irritating little shit. They were still staying at Yennefer’s house, but Geralt was pretty sure she was on the verge of abandoning all professionalism and throwing Jaskier out on the street.

“I am so fucking sick of lounging around like an invalid,” Jaskier complained to them one morning as Yennefer was examining him.”

“Well, then I have good news for you,” Yennefer said, finishing off what she was doing. “You’re free to go.  _ Please, go _ . I want some peace and quiet.”

Geralt chuckled, remembering how many times he’d said the same sort of thing to Jaskier.

“Oh, thank all the gods!” Jaskier exclaimed. He turned to Geralt. “So, where are we going next? You still want to go see your brothers?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt tried to interject.   
“Or we could go down to the coast, supposedly that’s beautiful this time of year.”

“Jaskier.”

“Or maybe you want to-”

“JASKIER!”

“What?”

Geralt took a deep breath. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

“What?” Jaskier said, clearly confused. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? Traveling cowboy?”

“Yennefer asked me to stay,” Geralt explained. “And I’m going to.”

Jaskier regarded him in silence. Yennefer, perhaps sensing the way the atmosphere was growing heavy, left the room.

“And that will make you happy, will it?” Jaskier asked at last. “Settling down in the city, doing... what, exactly? Apart from the lovely doctor.”

Geralt sighed. He really did not want to have this argument. Didn’t want to listen to Jaskier articulate the very doubts he was also having.

“I don’t know, Jas,” he admitted. “But I’m going to do it anyway. This is my chance to live a normal sort of life, don’t you see that? To have a home, and someone to love me. To not be alone. I can’t pass it up.”

“Right,” said Jaskier, and his expression shuttered. “Okay. If that’s what will make you happy, then…” he shrugged, and started pulling on his travelling clothes.

Geralt didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say. He watched in silence as Jaskier finished dressing and packed his bags, carefully stowing his guitar in her case as he always did.

“I think I’ll head down to the coast, then,” Jaskier said at length. “See if I can join one of the wagon trains headed that way.”

“Okay,” Geralt said, trying to ignore the way his heart ached.

“So. I guess. This is goodbye then?” Jaskier’s eyes were sad, and Geralt hated it. Jaskier was sunshine and music; sadness didn’t suit him at all.

“I guess.”

“I’ll drop by if I’m ever in town.”

“You do that.”

Silence stretched out between them, both knowing they had to say goodbye, neither really wanting to.

“I’m gonna miss you, Cowboy,” Jaskier said at last, a watery little smile on his face. Then, to Geralt’s shock, Jaskier placed a hand on his cheek, reached up on his toes, and planted a single soft kiss at the corner of his mouth.

Before he could react, Jaskier had picked up his bags and stepped outside.

Geralt leaned back against the wall. He brought his hand up slowly, noticing the quiver in his fingers in a detached sort of way, and gently touched his fingertips to the ghost of Jaskier’s lips.

Fuck.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is still a moron (TM). But he gets a much-needed reality check.

It was almost two years before Geralt saw Jaskier again.

True to his word, he’d stayed with Yennefer. He’d gotten work on one of Eist’s ranches, thanks to a good word from Mousesack, so Roach had a good home and he spent his days doing work he enjoyed and was good at. And at night, he came home to a hot meal and a warm bed and his beautiful fiance.

He’d gained some respect in the city, made some friends even, and he knew full well that it was almost entirely Yennerfer’s doing. She’d welcomed him into her world, letting him share her life as if he deserved it.

And then she got pregnant.

She was overjoyed. Geralt had panicked - what on earth qualified him to be a father? He would make a mess of it, he was certain. But Yennefer talked him through it, reassured him that he would be wonderful, and he soon warmed to the idea. They would get married, and the three of them would be a family. He vowed that he would protect this child with everything in him.

It was all so very perfect, until it wasn’t. Until Yennefer lost the baby, before her belly had even begun to show, and the infection that followed in its wake made sure she would never get pregnant again.

Yennefer had been devastated, and it had taken her a long time to come back to herself, to pick up the pieces of that shattered dream and rediscover the formidable woman Geralt had met all those months ago. But she’d managed it somehow, once again becoming the captivating sorceress he knew and loved. And somehow, through it all, she loved him too.

It was more than he ever dreamed he’d have.

He should have been happy. He really should have.

But he wasn’t.

He missed the wide open spaces of the plains, where there was no-one to answer to but his horse and himself (and, for a while, a wonderfully exasperating traveling companion). He missed camping, and the smell of woodsmoke, and simple meals cooked over the open flames. He missed lying on his back and looking up at a million billion pinpricks of light, tracing their patterns and hearing their stories. There was so much smoke and light in the city, he could never see more than a handful of stars.

And Yennefer was… she was wonderful. Geralt felt a stab of guilt every time he thought of her, because really, what more did he want from her? She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and she was strong and clever and fierce. He admired her, he loved her deeply, he couldn’t find a single flaw in her.

And yet, his heart betrayed him. It wasn’t her violet eyes that haunted his dreams, but a pair of bright blue ones, half-hidden behind a messy fringe of wavy brown hair. His hands reached out in sleep, seeking not her smooth skin and soft curves, but aching to touch toned muscle and coarse chest hair. 

When they made love, he had to bite his tongue, lest the wrong name slip out. And when it was just him, touching himself, hers was never the face that came to mind.

But it was his own little secret. 

Fuck, he would never deserve her, would he? He would never be worthy of her. But he could damn well try.

And he’d been doing such a good job of it, until Jaskier showed up out of the blue one day.

Geralt couldn’t believe his eyes, staring in stunned silence at the familiar figure in the doorway.

“Well, Cowboy,” Jaskier said with a smile. “I hoped I’d still find you here.” 

Geralt still couldn’t find his voice. He stepped out of the house, carefully closing the door behind him, and grabbed Jaskier by the wrist. This earned him a puzzled glance, but he just pulled Jaskier around the side of the house, into a little hidden alleyway.

“Geralt? Wha-”

And Geralt snapped. He pressed Jaskier against the wall, kissing him roughly, two years of longing and regret clawing its way out of his chest. Jaskier made a strangled sort of noise, and Geralt pulled back, horrified at what he’d just done.

“Fuck. Jas, sorry, I-”

And then he was the one being pushed into the wall, Jaskier’s mouth hot on his, his hands clutching Geralt’s shirt as if he were a drowning man grabbing onto a liferaft. Geralt wove his fingers into Jaskier’s hair and kissed him deeply, trying to say with lips and tongue everything he had never been able to find the words for.

The slamming of a door broke the spell, and Geralt pulled away. Fuck, what was he doing? He was standing out here in broad daylight, kissing a man, pressed up against the wall of the house he shared with his fiance.

Fuck,  _ Yennefer _ .

He felt sick.

“We can’t do this,” he managed.

“Why not?” Jaskier said, looking dazed.

“I’m engaged,” he managed. “To Yenn. We... She…” Geralt took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. “I’m not that sort of person.”

Jaskier laughed sardonically. “Of course you aren’t. That was just a friendly little greeting, right? Heaven forbid anyone think you enjoyed kissing a man.”

“What? No!” Geralt protested. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I’m not a cheat. I don’t go around kissing someone - anyone - when I’m engaged to someone else.”

“Oh.” Jaskier deflated a bit. Then he looked up at Geralt. “Engaged?”

“Yeah.” Geralt tried for a smile, but he couldn’t summon one. “Getting married in the summer.”

“Wow,” Jaskier said. “That’s. Wow. Congratulations.”

“Yeah.”

“So. Do you want to go get a drink or something? Catch up?” Jaskier asked, looking hopeful.

“I can’t,” Geralt said.

“Doesn’t have to be right now,” Jaskier countered. “I’ll be around for a few days.”

“No, I meant I can’t go out with you. At any time,” Geralt clarified. "I can’t… risk this happening again.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Jaskier protested. “We were friends before, I’m sure we can manage it again.”

“I don’t think I can,” Geralt said sadly. “I don’t think I can ever see you as just a friend again. You stand there, looking all… how you do,” Geralt gestured vaguely, “and all I can think about is kissing you senseless and running away with you, never to be seen again. So no, I can’t have a friendly drink with you.”

Jaskier’s mouth was hanging open a bit by the end of this speech. 

“So why don’t you?” he said hoarsely.

“I can’t, Jas,” he said as gently as he could, but even he could hear the frustration creeping into the edges of his voice. “You know I can’t. I have a life here now. A job, a home. A fiance. I can’t throw all of that away on a whim. So just… just go. Okay? Please.”

“Right,” Jaskier said sadly. “Of course. I don’t know what I was expecting.” He looked away for a few moments before meeting Geralt’s gaze again.

“I guess that’s it, then. It was nice to see you. I’ll…” Jaskier shut his mouth, pressing his lips together in a tight line, and shook his head as if he were dislodging an unwelcome thought. Then he turned and walked away without another word.

\---

Geralt stood alone in the alleyway, trying to get his emotions under control. He wrapped his arms around his chest as if he was trying to hold himself together, or give himself the sympathetic hug he couldn’t ask anyone else for. Tears stung in his eyes, and he wiped them away angrily.

Damn him for crying about this. Damn Jaskier, and Yennefer, and his whole stupid life. He hated how much this hurt. How could doing the right thing feel so fucking wrong?

He didn’t know how long he stood there, but eventually he got enough of a grip on himself that he could go back into the house. He hoped that Yennefer wouldn’t be able to tell that he’d been crying, wouldn’t ask him what was wrong.

As it turned out, Yennefer was on her way out; he met her in the doorway.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Just out for a bit,” she said, giving him a distracted peck on the cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it.” 

Well, that was odd. He watched her as she walked away, then went inside and fell down on the bed, grateful to have a bit of time to himself to come to terms with what had just happened. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel Jaskier’s mouth, his hands, the firm press of his body.

He pushed those thoughts aside. Tried to think of Yennefer instead, of kissing her and holding her close as they moved together.

It just didn’t have the same effect. The memory of Jaskier left him feeling like every nerve was on fire, but the thought of Yennefer left him indifferent.

He swore at himself and buried his face in the pillow.

He must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing he knew, Yennefer was sitting next to him, gently running her hand through his hair, and it was getting dark.

“Time for dinner, big guy,” she said before getting up and going to the kitchen. Geralt followed her.

“So. I saw Jaskier today,” Yennefer said, as if apropos of nothing.

“Oh?” Geralt said. “Did you speak to him?”

“I did,” she confirmed.

“And how is he doing?” Geralt asked, even though he knew, and it was really the last thing he wanted to think about. He would act normal about this if it killed him.

“He looks… crushed.” Yennefer said blithely, as if she were commenting on the colour of his shirt. “Absolutely heartbroken.”

Geralt’s eyes shot up to hers. She just looked at him with a sad, sympathetic sort of look, as she reached out to take his hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said softly.

“Tell you what?” Geralt asked.

“That you loved him,” she said, still in that same soft, sad tone of voice.

“There was nothing to tell,” Geralt said, his voice raw. “It was a long time ago, and it was just a passing fancy. There was never anything between us. And I have you now, don’t I? Why would I even bring it up?”

Yennefer was giving him a familiar look, the one that said ‘I love you, but really, you’re such an idiot’. He got that look from her a lot.

“I saw you two, earlier,” she admitted. “It didn’t look like nothing to me.” There was no anger in her voice, only resignation.

“Fuck.” Geralt didn’t know what to say to that, so he just let his head sink down on the table. “Fuck,” he added again, for emphasis.

“You know,” Yennefer went on, thoughtfully. “A lot of things make sense now. Mostly the way it always felt like you weren’t quite mine, not a hundred percent. I thought it was just because of your whole strong and silent thing. But I guess it’s more than that. He’s always held a piece of your heart, hasn’t he?”

Geralt couldn’t deny it, so he didn’t say anything.

“I won’t do it, Geralt,” she said at last. “I love you, fuck, I love you so much, but I can’t be your number two. I can’t build a life with you knowing there’s someone else you love.”

“But he’s gone,” Geralt protested. “He’s gone and he won’t come back. I’m all yours.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Yennefer sighed, her voice wavering. Geralt was pained to see tears pooling in her eyes. “He’s been gone all this time, and still you were never mine. I don’t think that’s going to change.” 

She got up out of her chair. “I think that maybe you need some time to yourself. I’m going to stay over at Triss’s tonight, give you some space. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Geralt didn’t move to stop her. That seemed to be his signature move, standing frozen as people he loved walked away from him. He remained sitting in that chair, his dinner growing cold in front of him and his mind racing in circles. 

He recounted the facts to himself over and over again: He had chased Jaskier away, and he wasn’t coming back. Yennefer had walked away, and she probably wasn’t coming back either. He was alone. He would always be alone.

He had fucked it up properly, this time.

After a while, the circling thoughts got exhausting, and he decided that the best course of action would be to drown them out with massive amounts of alcohol. He was dimly aware that it probably wasn’t the wisest plan, but the allure of losing himself in the bottom of a bottle was too strong.

He grabbed his jacket and made his way to his favourite bar downtown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're through the worst of it, I promise.
> 
> A question for those who are reading along: As it is now, I didn't write any smut for this fic. Would you like some? Vote in the comments! -xx S


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt finally - **finally** - gets his shit together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, folks; the scene I've been waiting for. Seriously, this entire fic was just a set up for this scene. I hope you all love it as much as I do.

The bar was busy and noisy and exactly what Geralt wanted. The more people around, the easier it was for him to lose himself in the crowd and forget who he was just for a while.

He fought his way to the bar and ordered a double whiskey, which he downed in a single breath before ordering another and settling himself in a stool at the corner of the bar.

When he ordered the third one, the barman came over and leaned on the counter, giving him a sympathetic look as he handed over the drink.

“Your girl kick you out, then?” he asked. “Job trouble? Dog died?”

“Fuck off,” Geralt growled. The barman held his hands up in a conciliatory fashion. 

“Sorry, just trying to be kind,” he said. 

Geralt glared at him.

“Okay then. I’ll just keep them coming, shall I?” the barman said. “Say, we have some live music tonight. Might cheer you up.”

“I highly fucking doubt it,” Geralt muttered into his glass.

He thought that right until he heard the singer greeting the crowd. 

Of-fucking- _ course _ it would be him. Because the universe wasn’t content to get Geralt on the ground; it also had to kick him in the nuts for good measure. 

He couldn’t see the little excuse for a stage from where he sat, which suited him just fine; he didn’t think he could bear to look at Jaskier right now. Didn't think his heart could take it. 

He listened, though. He sat there for an hour, and then another, letting Jaskier’s voice wash over him, mourning for what he’d lost before he even had it. 

“I’m coming to the end of my set now, folks,” Jaskier announced, to a general exclamation of dismay from the crowd. “This last song is one I wrote for a special friend of mine. He isn’t here to hear it, but still: this one’s for you, Cowboy.”

Geralt froze, gripping his glass so tight he thought he might shatter it. It was for him, wasn’t it? It had to be. He was Jaskier’s Cowboy.

The song started off slowly, plucked notes ringing out clearly, and then Jaskier’s voice joined in. 

_ Desperado, _

_ Why don't you come to your senses? _

_ You've been out ridin' fences for so long now.  _

My whole fucking life, Geralt thought miserably, that’s how long. 

_ Oh, you're a hard one, _

_ I know that you got your reasons; _

_ These things that are pleasin' you _

_ Will hurt you somehow. _

Well, that was accurate, at least. It all hurt, all of it. Even the things that used to make him happy.

_ Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy, _

_ She'll beat you if she's able; _

_ You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet.  _

_ Now it seems to me some fine things _

_ Have been laid upon your table, _

_ But you only want the ones that you can't get _

Fuck. It was true, wasn’t it. He’d had everything a man could ask for, but he lost it, because he couldn’t stop wanting the one thing he didn’t have. 

_ Desperado, _

_ Oh, you ain't gettin' no younger; _

_ Your pain and your hunger _

_ They're drivin' you home. _

_ Freedom, oh freedom, _

_ Well that's just some people talkin'. _

_ Your prison is walkin' through this world all alone. _

I used to think that was my greatest joy, Geralt thought bitterly. Being out there alone, that was my home, and I was happy. But you had to fuck it up, didn’t you? Now it just seems lonely. 

_ Don't your feet get cold in the wintertime? _

_ The sky won't snow and the stars won't shine, _

_ It's hard to tell the nighttime from the day. _

_ You're losin' all your highs and lows, _

_ Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away? _

Wouldn’t that be a fine thing, if the feeling would go away? It would make it all so much easier.

_ Desperado, _

_ Why don't you come to your senses? _

_ Come down from your fences, _

_ Open the gate. _

_ It may be rainin', _

_ But there's a rainbow above you; _

_ You better let somebody love you _

_ \- let somebody love you - _

_ You better let somebody love you, _

_ Before it's too late. _

Before it’s too late. 

Was it too late? Was it?

Those last few lines played over and over in his mind. Let somebody love you, let somebody love you,  _ let somebody love you. _

Jaskier had written those words. Written them for him, he was sure of it.

It sounded an awful lot like  _ let me love you _ .

Would Jaskier still love him? Could he, possibly? Geralt felt a spark of hope flare to life. He waved the barman over.

“Do you know where he’s staying?” He asked. “The singer, I mean,” he clarified at the man’s confused look. “He’s an old friend, I need to know where to find him.”

“Oh. I think he’s staying in one of the rooms upstairs,” the barman said. 

“Thanks,” Geralt said, and hurried over to the stairwell. He lurked in the shadows, watching as Jaskier sipped a well-earned pint and chatted to the other patrons of the bar.

His heart rate spiked when Jaskier finally put down his empty glass, picked up his guitar, and made his way across the room.

This was it, then. The moment of truth.

“Jaskier,” he said, when he was close enough that Geralt could reach out and touch him.

Jaskier jumped in fright.

“Geralt! Fuck, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry,” Geralt said, sheepishly. “Can we. Um. Can we talk, maybe?”

Jaskier looked guarded, clutching his guitar in front of him like a shield.

“What about?” he asked.

“About how I’m a massive fucking idiot, maybe?” Gerlat suggested.

This got a small smile out of Jaskier. “Okay, I’m always up for discussing that. Do you want to come up?”

“Lead the way.”

\---

They walked up the stairs in silence. Geralt stood there awkwardly as Jaskier opened the door, followed him inside, stood awkwardly some more as Jaskier set down his guitar and took off his boots.

“I liked that song,” he said softly.

Jaskier said nothing, concentrating on his shoes as if they held the secrets of the universe.

“It was for me, wasn’t it?” Geralt prodded.

Jaskier covered his eyes with one hand and let out a weary sigh.

“What do you want, Geralt?” he asked.

“I want…” 

What did he want? It was difficult, sorting through the mess of his feelings so that he could put them into words properly. But he knew he wanted to make things right between them.

“I want to apologise, first of all. I was awful to you.”

“You were,” Jaskier agreed. 

Fuck, he wasn’t going to make this easy, was he?

“I was… afraid. And confused. I didn’t understand it at first, what I felt for you, and when I did, it terrified me. It was the worst fucking thing that ever happened to me; I just wanted to get rid of it.”

“This is a really shit apology, Geralt,” Jaskier interjected.

“Sorry,” Geralt shrugged. “Told you I’m an idiot. I thought if you were gone, then things would go back to how they were before, you know? I could be happy, on my own, or with Yennefer, and there wouldn’t be any risk to it. It was safe, and perfect, and it was enough for me, more or less. Until you came along again. So I thought the solution was to make you leave, and stay away.”

“And now, what, you don’t think so anymore?” Jaskier looked sceptical.

“I don’t,” Geral confirmed. “Because you live in my fucking brain, Jas. You never left. In my thoughts, in my dreams at night, you were always there.”

“And yet, you’ve been with Yennefer for what, two years? You’re fucking engaged, Geralt!” Jaskier pointed out.

“Not anymore,” Geralt admitted. “Also, did I mention that I’m an idiot? Fuck, Jas, I was so fucking blind. I couldn’t hold Yen, couldn’t touch her, couldn’t take her to bed without wishing it was you instead. And somehow I still thought staying with her was the right thing to do.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m trying to  _ not _ be an idiot. I want you, Jas. I… I love you. I miss you.”

“And Yennefer?” Jaskier asked.

“Over,” Geralt said. “She made that pretty clear.” The admission didn’t hurt as much as he would have expected.

Jaskier laughed at that.

“Do you know she came to see me today?” Jaskier asked.

“She mentioned something like that,” Geralt said, confused at the turn this was taking.

“Did you know she saw us kissing in the alleyway?”

“Yeah, she may have mentioned that too.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t kill me, you know,” Jaskier remarked. “She was actually pretty nice about the whole thing. Very… composed, and sort of sad and resigned.” Jaskier contemplated this for a moment. “She’s a pretty incredible woman, you know.”

“Yeah,” Geralt agreed. “She is. But she’s not for me.”

“Oh, and you think I am?” Jaskier said, a teasing grin on his face.

“I think you could be, yeah,” Geralt grinned back. He held out a hand to Jaskier. “Care to find out?”

-

It started with a kiss - soft, careful, nothing like the heated exchange they’d shared in the alleyway. Geralt felt himself relax into Jaskier’s embrace, all the turmoil of the day melting away as he finally,  _ finally _ felt like he was home.

Shirts were unbuttoned slowly, hands exploring every newly-exposed bit of skin, taking their time to enjoy this moment that they’d been waiting for for so, so long. Jeans were unbuttoned and slid off, shoes discarded with a kick. 

When they were down to their underpants, Jaskier held out a hand to Geralt, a soft smile on his face. 

“Come to bed with me, Cowboy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and because you asked so nicely (lookin' at you, Ally 😜) the next chapter will be pure lovely fluffy smut.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy smut. That's all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in response to popular demand (you know who you are 😜), have some smut. That's literally all this chapter is. Zero plot, just these two idiots making love, so feel free to skip if that's not your thing.

“Come to bed with me, Cowboy.” 

Geralt’s mind went blank at those words. His entire world narrowed to the man standing in front of him, his hand held out invitingly, his eyes alight with promise and desire. 

It was everything he’d dreamed of these last two years. 

It was terrifying.

“Geralt?” Jaskier was looking at him with concern. “Are you okay, darling?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Geralt shook his head, trying to bring himself back to the moment. “It’s just… I’ve never… with a man…” Geralt looked at the floor, embarrassed, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. This wasn’t news for Jaskier, he knew, but still there was that pesky voice in his head telling him that he wasn’t good enough, that Jaskier deserved more than a fumbling virgin (well, in a manner of speaking), and he would surely realize it at any moment and send Geralt packing. 

But Jaskier just chuckled warmly. “I know that, Cowboy. Luckily, I’ve got enough experience for the both of us.” He winked cheekily, and Geralt couldn’t help but smile. 

Jaskier stepped up close, placing both hands on Geralt’s hips and resting their foreheads together. 

“We’ll go slow, okay?” he said gently. “I’ll show you, talk you through it. And if anything is not okay, if anything doesn’t feel amazing, you just say the word and we stop, okay? You promise me you’ll do that?”

“Yeah, okay,” Geralt said, his voice coming out husky with lust. 

“Come on then, love,” Jaskier said, pulling sway and taking him by the hand. “Come to bed. Let me take care of you, for once.”

Geralt followed him in a daze, settled down next to him on the mattress. This, at least, was not entirely unfamiliar - sharing a bed, sharing heat and space. But then Jaskier brought their mouths together, a gentle, exploring kiss, and suddenly it wasn’t familiar at all. It was new and thrilling and altogether the most breathtaking thing he’d ever experienced. 

Geralt kissed back, open mouthed and hungry, desperate to feel and taste and  _ devour _ . Jaskier responded in kind, and the air grew thick with their moans and gasping breaths. 

Geralt rolled onto his back, pulling Jaskier on top of him, and  _ fuck, yes,  _ that felt amazing. He revelled in the weight pinning him down, the feeling of surrendering himself to someone who might actually be his physical equal. Geralt’s fingers roamed all over Jaskier’s body as they kissed, cataloguing firm muscle and coarse hair - so different from a woman, so uniquely wonderful. 

His hands made their way down Jaskier’s back, tracing the dip of his spine, the two dimples just where his waistband would normally sit, sliding down to cup two handfuls of gorgeous arse. Geralt pulled him closer, grinding them together, and his mouth fell open at the jolt of pleasure that shot through him.

“Fuck, Cowboy,” Jaskier panted. “That’s - ugh, holy  _ shit! _ ” Jaskier’s hips were still rocking as he spoke, each press of their bodies momentarily stealing his words. 

_ So that’s what it takes to shut him up _ , Geralt thought smugly (and, it must be said, a little deliriously. He didn’t have a lot of blood to spare for higher brain functions at the moment). 

Acting on instinct, he flipped them over so that he was straddling Jaskier on the bed. Gods, he looked amazing like that, hair mussed, pupils blown wide, panting through slightly parted lips. Oh, those lips, pink and wet and just begging to be tasted.

“Beautiful,” Geralt said, bending down to kiss him. 

“Perfect.” He let his mouth travel sideways, along Jaskier’s jaw, down to his neck, punctuating each word with a lingering kiss and a roll of his hips, making Jaskier squirm and keen under him. 

“Gorgeous. Delicious. Wonderful.  _ Mine. _ ” Geralt latched onto Jaskier’s neck and sucked what was sure to be a beautiful bruise. 

“Gerallllt,” Jaskier whined. 

“Sorry, love,” Geralt said apologetically, placing a soft kiss on the abused skin. 

“No,” Jaskier panted. “Nonono, no apologies. Do it again. So… so fucking hot.  _ Fuuuuck! _ ” Jaskier broke off into a near-howl as Geralt moved down his throat, marking him again and again. 

“Mine,” he growled again. “Only mine.”

“Only yours,” Jaskier agreed breathlessly. “Only ever yours. Take me, Geralt. Fuck me. Make me your own.”

“No,” Geralt said. 

“ _ No?! _ ” Jaskier sounded amusingly like a petulant child. “What do you mean  _ no _ ?!”

“I mean,” Geralt whispered in his ear, “that I won’t fuck you.”

“Oh-” disappointment glinted in Jaskier’s eyes. 

“But I will make love to you,” Geralt continued, nibbling on Jaskier’s earlobe. “Over and over and over again, as many times as you’ll let me.”

“Gods, Geralt,” Jaskier breathed. “You’re going to kill me.”

“I certainly hope not.” 

He pulled back a bit, taking in the amazing sight of Jaskier lying below him, lust-crazed and desperate. 

“Um, I’m not sure,” his gaze shifted nervously. “That’s to say… I think this is where you need to start talking me through it.”

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course.” Jaskier seemed to gather his wits a bit. “You want to top? As in, um, you fuck me and not vice versa?” he asked.

“Yeah, okay,” Geralt said gratefully. It seemed a bit more familiar that way around. 

“Look in my pack over there, there’s a little glass bottle with oil.”

“Oil?” Geralt asked as he retrieved the bottle. 

“Yes. For lubrication,” Jaskier explained. “I don’t fancy friction burns up my arse.” Geralt winced at the thought. 

“Exactly,” Jaskier grinned. “Now, I need to be stretched out a bit first, or this won’t be fun for either of us. You’re… uh, not small.” Jaskier’s eyes strayed to Geralt’s crotch, something decidedly hungry in his gaze, and Geralt felt himself blush.

He watched as Jaskier settled himself on the bed comfortably, spreading his legs with his knees bent, putting himself on display. He swallowed thickly. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. 

Jaskier poured some of the oil on his fingers, rubbing them together before bringing his hand to rest between his legs, the top of his middle finger just on his hole. He started rubbing the fingertip in slow circles, teasing himself, biting off little moans of pleasure. 

Geralt’s hand was reaching out before he even realised it. “Can I?” he asked, breathless. 

“You - you want to? Oh, fuck, yes!” Jaskier scrambled for the oil bottle, passed it over. 

“Tell me what to do, yeah?” Geralt asked as he slicked his fingers. 

“Yeah, okay. Just -oh fuck, yes, just like that.” Geralt was copying what Jaskier had been doing before, making careful circles, and it seemed to be working. He considered for a moment, then brought his other hand up to stroke over Jaskier’s stomach and chest, scratching his fingers through the thick hair, thumbing at his nipples. 

“Fuck, Geralt!” he gasped. “Get a finger in me, you tease.”

Geralt pushed carefully with his fingertip, surprised at how much resistance he encountered. 

“Press harder,” Jaskier encouraged him. 

Geralt gasped when the ring of muscle finally gave way and his fingertip slid inside. It was like nothing he’d ever felt, hot and slick with oil and so very, very tight. It should, objectively, be disgusting, sticking his finger up another man’s arsehole, but in reality it left him reeling with desire. Just the thought of burying himself in there… it was enough to make his head spin. 

“Move, love,” Jaskier said, pulling Geralt back to the present. “In and out, nice and slow and dee- oh  _ yes! _ ” Geralt grinned at Jaskier’s obvious pleasure. After a few minutes, on Jaskier’s instruction, he added a second finger, and then a third, twisting and flexing them as he felt Jaskier relax around him. It was absolutely awe-inspiring. 

“Enough!” Jaskier gasped at last. “If I don’t get you inside me now, I swear…”

Geralt chuckled. “Eager, are you?” It was a deflection, he knew - if anyone was eager, it was him. He felt about ready to burst with anticipation. 

“Get on your back, you absolute monster,” Jaskier pouted at him, and Geralt was quick to obey. 

Jaskier gave him a quick once-over, letting his eyes roam over Geralt from head to toe and finally coming to rest on his groin. 

“Hmm,” Jaskier said pensively. I wonder if you’re  _ quite _ hard enough…”

Geralt felt his brain splutter; he’d never been harder in his life, if he got any more aroused he thought he might do himself an injury. But then it became clear what Jaskier was playing at, because he grabbed the oil and slicked up his own hand again. “Let’s just make doubly sure, shall we?”

The feeling of Jaskier’s hand wrapping around him was like a punch to the gut, but in the best possible way. 

“Fucking hell, Jas,” he gasped. “That’s - you -  _ fuck! _ ” Geralt’s back arched as Jaskier added a little twist of his wrist. Jaskier chuckled smugly. 

“Look at you, Cowboy,” he said. “So hot, so ready for me. Aren’t you, dear heart?”

Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hand to still it. “Keep doing that, and this will be over before it even started,” he gasped. 

“Oh, no, no, we can’t have that,” Jaskier said, relenting. He shuffled up until he was straddling Geralt’s hips and reached one hand underneath himself to line them up. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

“Fuck, yes,” Geralt nodded, desperately. 

And then Jaskier was sinking down on him. There was a moment of uncomfortable pressure, and then he felt Jaskier’s body opening to him, letting him in, and it was  _ incredible _ . Slowly, agonisingly, Jaskier slid down, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth and his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Geralt was lost in the sight of him, the sounds he was making, the sheer overwhelming sensation of their bodies joining together. 

“ _ Gods, _ ” Jaskier panted when he finally came to a rest, his bum against Geralt’s thighs. “You feel… it’s…”

“I know,” Geralt replied, also at a loss for words. He reached up and grabbed Jaskier by the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. The movement of his hips as he bent down sent a wave of pleasure coursing through Geralt, and he instinctively canted his hips up. 

“Oh  _ yes, _ ” Jaskier groaned. “Again!”

Geralt repeated the roll of his hips, again and again, pulling the most beautiful sounds from Jaskier every single time. 

They soon found a rhythm, grinding against each other, all coherence lost as they panted and gasped and chased their pleasure. 

It didn’t take long, given the agonisingly long buildup. Geralt came first, with a shudder that shook him from his head to his toes, robbing him of all ability to think or speak or do anything but  _ feel _ . He was only dimly aware of Jaskier’s hand moving above him, of the hot splatter of semen on his stomach, of Jaskier’s weight as he collapsed on top of him. 

“Fucking hell, Cowboy,” Jaskier mumbled from his chest, once he got his breath back. “That was something else.”

“Hmm,” was all Geralt could manage, his mind still blissfully blank. He brought his hand up to gently card through Jaskier’s hair, placing a distracted kiss on the soft tangles. 

This - this was what he’d been missing. This was perfection. 

-

That night, for the first time, he could give in to his impulse to hold Jaskier against him as he fell asleep, curling his body around him and burying his face in the nape of his neck.

“Love you, Cowboy,” Jaskier mumbled as Geralt snuggled against him, and the simple beauty of the words took Geralt’s breath away.

“Love you too,” he answered. “Loved you for so long. Love you forever.”


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These two darlings get their happily ever after, in the end.

_ A number of years later... _

“Good morning, sunshine!” Jaskier said in a singsong voice as he threw open the curtains.

Geralt groaned and pulled a pillow over his face.

Jaskier carried on, undeterred. “I brought you coffee, and there’s muffins downstairs. Now get that pretty arse of yours out of bed before I take matters into my own hands.”

“Like to see you try,” Geralt muttered.

“Challenge accepted,” Jaskier said, and pounced.

By the time they got out of bed, the coffee was stone cold and the muffins were dry. Geralt didn’t really mind.

“So, Priss is bringing the kids over later,” Jaskier babbled at breakfast. “Jamie wants to try and ride a horse again. I was thinking maybe Roach?”

Geralt growled, possessive of her as ever, and Jaskier chuckled.

“Just kidding, Cowboy. I’ll saddle up Buttercup for them.”

Geralt grunted. That was acceptable.

“What are your plans for the day?”

“Checking the fences in the north field,” Geralt answered. “I’ll have to start moving the sheep there any day now.”

“Do you want a packed lunch?”

“Please.”

Geralt smiled contentedly to himself. This was what their days were like, now. Horses and sheep and occasional visits from Jaskier’s sister and her children. Hard work and soft kisses and above all, love in abundance.

When Jaskier’s father died some years ago, Geralt discovered that Jaskier was a penniless traveling musician by choice rather than necessity. He had known Jaskier was estranged from his family, that he had lost touch with his father after his mother’s death, that he had a sister whom he still saw occasionally. What he didn’t realise was that Jaskier was the heir to the substantial Pankratz estates, and even though Jaskier’s father hadn’t been willing to see eye to eye with him during his lifetime, the old man had still left everything he owned to his only son. 

Jaskier had scoffed at this, immediately transferring the manor and the business holdings to Priscilla. The only thing he decided to keep was Lettenhove, the sprawling sheep-farming ranch that had belonged to his mother’s family.

Jaskier had taken Geralt to see it, and he had fallen in love right away. It had everything he loved about his cowboy life: freedom, peace, wide-open spaces, and at night, more stars than he would be able to count in a dozen lifetimes. The cosy little ranch house was just a bonus; after half a lifetime of tents and temporary rooms, it felt like a palace.

They built a quiet, happy life for themselves, far away from anyone who might cast a disparaging judgement. They had each other, and they were happy, or as close to happy as was possible in the real world.

It turned out to be a whole lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's finished!
> 
> What will I do next? Who knows?! I have at least 3 nearly-finished fics sitting in my docs... So watch this space!
> 
> Tons of love to everyone who' s reading and leaving comments - you guys make my day without fail 😘
> 
> xx - S


End file.
